Off and Humming

By WILLIAM MCWHIRTER DETROIT

Like the other white-gloved ladies in Detroit at the turn of the century, Clara Ford preferred to drive a clean and simple electric machine. Her husband Henry, however, had other ideas: his bouncy, backfiring, gas-powered Model T soon passed the gentler cars, leaving them in the dust of the Motor Age.

Ninety years later, Clara may yet have the last word. At their own tortoise pace, electric cars are regaining fans, including a few in powerful places. In an unprecedented collaboration, Ford, General Motors and Chrysler are working to develop a new electric battery that would serve the U.S. industry -- driven at least in part by rules in California that will require carmakers to sell affordable "zero emission" (translation: electric) vehicles by the end of the decade.

The collaboration by the Big Three is a watershed in American technological history. Although electric cars have been produced by various manufacturers for more than 150 years, they have been relegated to a handful of diehard loyalists and tinkerers, who were disparaged by most car builders and buyers as the nerds of the American road. It was not hard to understand why. The majority of such vehicles looked like ungainly, homemade versions of lunar walkers. Nor were they paragons of power, convenience or economy. After all, few customers would be drawn to a sale offering such dazzling features as, "Drive up to 60 m.p.h.! Travel as far as 100 miles without refueling! Recharge in less than six hours! Pay only $100,000!"

Those are still the characteristics of virtually all the world's electric vehicles, which are powered by cumbersome battery systems. The traditional lead-and-acid batteries require 100 times the weight and 30 times the space of conventional gasoline tanks to push even the lightest cars a fraction of the distance -- less than 100 miles at 25 m.p.h. Nickel-cadmium batteries provide 50% more power but at eight times the price (around $30,000, replaceable every two or three years). Sodium-sulphur batteries offer three times the energy but run both hot (at temperatures of 600 degrees F) and volatile. When exposed to water in crash impacts, they have an unpleasant tendency to produce a vehicular meltdown.

Why bother? For years, Detroit's Big Three didn't, despite public protests to the contrary (former GM chairman Roger Smith solemnly promised a commercially viable electric car by the mid-1980s). Even in recent years they have devoted less than 2% of their research-and-devel opment budgets to electric and other alternative-fuel vehicles. Admits GM's vice president of advanced engineering Donald Runkle (although something of an electric buff himself): "They're kind of funny and hokey with these strange electric noises, always buzzing, clicking and humming. There was always this image that they were just slow, dumpy golf carts."

It took some draconian legislation to get the wheels rolling. A California law with a distinctly puritanical streak mandates that by 1998 2% of each manufacturer's new cars sold in the state must be emission-free or stiff fines and penalties will be levied against the makers. Those standards match only one known product in the world market: the electric car. And they are just the beginning. Within another five years, the state's Clean Air Act will require that fully 10% of all new vehicles must comply -- a minimum of some 200,000 cars a year. Says Bill Sessa, spokesman for the California Air Resources Board: "We set standards that force the development of technology. The air will not get cleaner until people start driving cleaner cars."

There are powerful factors that may make California's edict work -- and perhaps become a model for the rest of the U.S. Whenever California speaks, the marketplace is compelled to listen; the state is the single biggest car market in the world, accounting for as much as 15% of U.S. sales. There is also the undeniable fact that Americans, particularly in the more polluted and congested urban areas, are driving themselves to death. As much as 80% of all urban smog and a quarter of the nation's total carbon dioxide are caused by engines burning fossil fuels.

Finally, there is the ultimate law of the marketplace. Even as they protest that electric cars have little commercial potential, Detroit automakers realize that proving themselves wrong is the best way to reclaim market share. Says a senior executive of the Big Three: "The Japanese are our biggest worry. They are going to do anything absolutely necessary to keep their golden market." Though Nissan demurs that its own nickel-cadmium model is not quite ready for prime time, it has already produced the first advertising slogan of the new electric age, describing its FEV concept car as "gentle to people, gentle to society, gentle to Earth."

Detroit's Big Three have formed an unusual consortium -- fueled by federal funds that may reach $100 million annually -- to develop an advanced battery, which is the key to building a truly marketable electric car. Their cooperation has led to speculation that they may even jointly build some kind ( of national supercar, but that would only delay their product design teams and defy their own fierce competitive traditions. Ford and Chrysler have already begun delivery of experimental electric-powered vans, mainly to public utility customers. They have seen the future, and it doesn't come with a fuel tank.

With reporting by Edwin M. Reingold/Los Angeles and Joseph R. Szczesny/Detroit